


Lumen

by AvaChanel



Category: Teen Titans (Animated Series), Teen Titans (Comics), Teen Titans - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Whump, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-01-30 19:35:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21433585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaChanel/pseuds/AvaChanel
Summary: The lumen (symbol: lm) is the SI derived unit of luminous flux, a measure of the total quantity of visible light emitted by a source per unit of time. A collection of mostly unrelated one-shots featuring BBRae using the prompts from Whumptober 2019, Day 1 through Day 15. Day 4: Human Shield, posted.
Relationships: Garfield Logan/Raven
Kudos: 51





	1. Chapter 1

**Whumptober Day 1: Shaky Hands**

* * *

It’s the first thing she notices.

Because he’s always the hardest to read — _always_.

Garfield isn’t like any of the other Titans. Then again, to her, he’s never been. At first, he perplexed her, frustrated her, even. This wall, this barrier he was so good at faking, it was impenetrable.

For years, she resented him for it. Did he mistrust her so much? Everyone else wore a hint of their true emotions, easy to see — _everyone_. But Raven only ever saw what Gar _wanted_ her to see.

And maybe that was why she’d started to look for other tells.

It starts with his hands, the way they shake. Slightly, only at specific times, but most notably, around Steve. Or whenever Mento is brought up.

He fidgets, hides them, self-conscious.

Always wearing gloves, Raven realizes she’s never seen him really take them off, and she’s never asked him _why_. But now the curiosity of it burns her, and the words come tumbling out before she can stop herself.

“Why do you do that?”

She has his attention now, fleeting as it is, but somehow always aware of _her_. His hands stop shaking. He’s consciously stilling them, she knows it. The effort it takes is notable in the subtlest strain of his facial muscles.

“Do what? Watch TV?”

She narrows her eyes at him, recognizing his attempt at a diversion and gleaning nothing from his emotions as always. Raven closes her book shut and sighs. “Your gloves. Why don’t you ever take them off?” she clarifies, mildly exasperated.

“Oh…” He lowers his head, like he’s ashamed, or hiding something. Maybe both.

The wall he’s built wavers, just a bit, like a mirage. A finger trembles on his lap. “Because…they aren’t pretty to look at.”

Raven raises an eyebrow, and something like a red flag goes up in the back of her mind, but she’s uncertain. “What do you mean?”

Beast Boy exhales deeply, his fingers twitching anew, probably trying to mask the undeniable shake. “Just…scarred up, claws, there’s nothing nice about them.” His words almost blur together, he speaks so quickly.

“Let me see, maybe there’s something I can do about that.” Raven is genuine, she really wants to help him. Being the daughter of Trigon, afflicted with many of his demonic genetics, she knows a thing or two about being self-conscious in regards to appearance.

But Beast Boy flinches when she nears, and it’s enough to give her pause. She fixes him with a confused stare, but he avoids her studious gaze. “You…you don’t want to see it, trust me. They’re…the ugliest part of me, and, _heh_, there’s already so much of that as it is…”

He’s trying to be funny, self-deprecating like she’s always known him to be, but there’s a truth to his words that sting and not even _he_ can hide that. 

Raven scoots over towards the end of her couch, closest to him, and she reaches over to take one of his hands in her own. She can feel the subtle trembling against her touch, fine tendons, nerves on fire. Careful not to remove the glove, Raven cups his hand with both of her own hands instead, and holds it over her lap. He’s warm, running hotter than any human ought to, and she leeches the heat like a winter wind. He’s tense, but he doesn’t pull away, and this time, he manages to lift his verdant gaze to hers and keep it there, like magnets.

She’s never been good at smiles, but Raven musters up a small, encouraging one for him. “You can talk to me, Gar. Maybe I can help.”

_Let me in_. _Take down those walls_.

Garfield is apprehensive, he’s never done this before, least of all with _her_. It’s new. It’s scary, maybe for them both, but she’s going out on a limb and she’s hoping he meets her halfway.

_Trust me_._ Please_.

And he wants to. It’s plain to see that he’s kept it bottled in for so long, stored away the pain with the memories, never sharing, never letting it out. The wall he’s so sure of wavers, it bleeds. There are cracks, she can feel them now, but what they hold back is enough to bulldoze right over her.

Gar pulls his hand away, gently, and Raven finds herself missing its unnatural warmth more than she ought to. Carefully, gingerly, he slips the glove off one finger at a time.

Raven can’t help the sharp gasp that escapes her mouth, eyes widening at the horror of Garfield’s fingers and hand.

Scar tissue — in angry white swirls with jagged, sharp edges — so stark in contrast against the green of his skin, mark all of the back of his hand and fingers. Much of it has never healed properly, the bones of his clawed fingers mangled from the many times he’s broken them, likely in very quick succession. Even his nails grow out in awkward angles now, and his knuckles are a disaster of mashed up scars, a notably paler green than the rest of him.

Raven is shocked, not disgusted, that he’s managed to keep this hidden for so long. Just looking at his hand makes her wince and recoil in empathetic pain. No one has ever said that being a Titan would be easy, but she knows that Garfield hadn’t sustained that damage whilst on the team, otherwise she’d have helped heal them _properly_, which led her to conclude…

“The Doom Patrol…?” she breathes in question, more to herself than to him, but he hears her anyways.

He nods once — so curt she could have missed it if she hadn’t been looking — then stares into his lap with heavy lids and a faraway glaze over his eyes. “Training with them, it wasn’t…quite how Robin does it with _us_. Mento — Steve, he…he needed to be _sure_ I was ready, that I could handle things if I wanted to go on missions with them…”

“_Steve_ did this?!”

The Doom Patrol has formidable enemies, that’s no secret, and Raven’s best guess originally was that Beast Boy had been potentially kidnapped or taken hostage at some point, to which he might have endured such torture. But…at the hands of _his own step-father_? A cold feeling of dread trickles down between her shoulder blades as she begins to comprehend exactly what her teammate is _not_ saying.

Beast Boy’s hands are shaking again, undeniably this time. He uses the gloved hand to mask the naked one, and he won’t meet Raven’s eyes. “He…he had to be _certain_, Rae. L-lives were at stake…he had to be _sure_…”

Anger — fierce and hot — burns from within the empath, enraged more than she ever thought possible upon learning that he’d been hurt so carelessly, by someone he trusted, loved, respected. By someone he is still too scared to call an _abuser_. She takes both of his hands in hers, and, in a firm but gentle tone, presses on, “What did Steve do to you?”

It takes him a moment, maybe longer, Raven doesn’t care. She’ll give him all the time he needs, and she makes sure to keep his hands in hers, doing her best not to look down at the carnal damage that had been done to them for fear that she might actually lose control of her temper.

Garfield inhales deeply, as if to steady his nerves. His voice quivers regardless. “It was a long time ago…back when…when I still couldn’t control my shifting as well. Not as quickly as I do now. Not quick enough for Mento, anyways. He told me that even one second was crucial, that people could and would die if I wasn’t able to transform on the spot. He…he wasn’t wrong. I failed a lot when I was younger, and every time I did, innocent people _did_ die. People I could have saved, if I’d just been _faster_. People like…” He chokes on his next words. “My parents…”

Raven knows better than to say anything. Every Titan is well aware that Beast Boy was orphaned at a very young age, although only Robin knows the intimate details. Instead of sating her own curiosity, Raven waits for him to continue, patient as ever.

Beast Boy gulps, and his fingers involuntarily twitch in Raven’s grip. “Steve came up with an idea, to help me…Rita, she didn’t agree and they got into an argument about his method, but I _wanted_ to get better! I wanted to make her proud, to help people, like a true member of the Doom Patrol. Like a _hero_. So, I sided with Steve on the matter, and told her it was _my _decision. Rita was heartbroken, but she didn’t stand in my way.

"With that settled, Mento began creating a series of rooms, all different from one another, all with their own unique dangers that would require different animal shapes to escape from. Each room had an open ceiling, but the walls were as deep as a well. If I ever wanted out officially, I just had to _fly_. Only…only avian forms were the _hardest_ for me back then…”

Beast Boy pauses, grits his teeth and clenches his jaw as he relives the nightmare of the memory. “I was just a stupid kid, I had no idea how to get _out_, and eventually, I panicked when I got stuck. I screamed, I kicked…I beat the walls until my fists were bloody. Over and over and over again, until my healing ability just…couldn’t keep up with the damage. My bones grew back wonky, the skin became mostly scar tissue, and I was sure I might have bled them dry…But I had to get out, I would pound my way through the brick if I had to, as any animal.

”…I was stuck for days…maybe weeks, before he finally came to get me. And when he did, when he showed up just beyond the door he’d unlocked…he was _so_ disappointed in me, he didn’t even say a word. Just walked away and left the door ajar. I’d _failed_ his trial, you see. Which meant that I was still nothing more than a whimpering baby who wanted his mommy at the end of the day. Not a hero. And definitely not a member of the Doom Patrol.“

Beast Boy’s broken fingers manage to clutch at Raven’s hand, and he stares at them wistfully. "They could have fixed them, I think. But that required surgery and even more pain, and the last thing Rita wanted was to hurt me again after such a traumatic experience. I cried in her arms until I tired myself out and eventually…fell asleep. My hands were bandaged for weeks, but they were so raw, I felt nothing. Or maybe that was the drugs they gave me…I don’t really remember much of what happened after. I just remember Rita singing and rocking me back and forth in her arms, while all I thought about was how I’d failed her, too…”

He goes quiet now, afraid to look at Raven and see her reaction. Afraid that maybe, she’d be judging him, too, like Steve had. It had come pouring out of him, the awful memory and all of his insecurities, too, like a scab being picked at.

How could anyone do such a thing to a child? The wall is down, and Raven almost regrets it the instant his emotions hit her, like a tidal wave, or a tsunami.

She’s been a fool all these years; the wall was never meant to keep her _out_. It was meant to keep it _in_. The barrier Garfield kept in place existed as much to protect her as it did himself. Mento could read his mind, after all.

But he’s vulnerable with her, he’s chosen to trust her, and the emotions that assault her senses are enough to break her heart.

Loneliness, insufferable in his isolation.

A longing to fit in, to be loved and to give love. To find a family again and become whole.

Failure, deep and shameful. Losing his parents, the perpetual fear of losing Rita, too, all because he wasn’t good enough.

Garfield’s emotions are overwhelming, and tears sting the backs of Raven’s eyes.

Eventually, she manages to block them out. To filter their intensity so that they aren’t overrunning her, but she is overcome with a desire to reach out and hold him, an instinct of human compassion she’s certain she’s learned from her mother and not her father. Raven longs to gently press her lips against each ugly scar along his palms and fingers, as if her mouth alone could somehow restore them to what they once were.

Instead, she says, “It’s not too late, Gar. We can still heal them…if you let me. If you still want to.”

And neither of them knows if it’s the physical wounds she’s talking about anymore, even as Beast Boy hesitantly nods his assent.

* * *

_ ** ~FIN** _


	2. Explosion

**Whumptober Day 2: Explosion**

* * *

“You can see him now, if you want.” Cyborg wouldn’t look her in the eyes, and she’d never heard him speak so meekly.

Exhaustion plagued the cybernetic man, and not only the physical kind. There were bags under his human eye, and lines and creases on his face that hadn’t been there before. Even the comforting blue light of his operating systems seemed to be pulsing more faintly now. Raven tried not to stare too long. She didn’t want to catch the small specks of smattered, bright crimson on a background of steel that he might have missed wiping down his body, the colours so stark in contrast and impossible to hide. Raven also didn’t want him to catch her looking so weak and frail in the moment, not after years of maintaining her steady aloofness among her teammates. It would only serve to contribute to Cyborg’s list of worries, and he already had enough of _those _to last a lifetime.

Victor was about to leave and close the door behind him with a heavy sigh before the untouched platter of food — now gone stale and flavorless — sitting on her desk caught his eye.

Nightwing never forced the meal on her, nor did he ever ask her why she refused to eat. They all knew why, and there truly wasn’t a point. Nonetheless, the food came fresh and hot every day, and every day, Richard would silently hope that she’d eat _something_, disappointment slumping his broad shoulders whenever he’d come by to clear the full plate.

“He’d want you to eat, Rae.” Victor’s voice was heavy, distant. His heart wasn’t in it, but he still carried the burden of worrying for his teammates. “You know he would.”

Raven was already on her feet, feeling wobbly and unsteady in her own skin, like a parasite controlling its host. She must have lost at least fifteen pounds, but her body wasn’t entirely unaccustomed to a lack of nutrition. It wasn’t that she wanted to starve herself. It was simply that she had no appetite. Food — the sight and smell of it — would make her stomach twist into knots, lurching over the meager contents already inside it.

“Thank you, Victor. But I’m not hungry,” she replied warily, as if she’d repeated the excuse to herself over and over again, like a broken record. Raven then made to push past his hulking figure through the door.

He gave her a disapproving frown, but stepped out of her way nonetheless. It was sad how easy he gave up, if she was being honest, too worn down to put up any sort of fight any longer, as was typical in spirit of the cybernetic man. Raven brushed a hand consolingly along his metal shoulder as she went past. “Rest, Victor…” she suggested, although even she sounded empty of conviction. But it was all she could manage as well, and they both knew that he would not follow her advice, either.

By now, Raven’s feet had memorized the path to the medbay, and she wandered the halls like a ghost. The corridor spun and her vision blurred. Even though she’d been resting all day, Raven felt as if she’d been recovering from running a marathon, her bones and muscles weary of Earth’s gravity.

As she drew nearer to the door, she was surprised to find that Richard stood guard outside of it, hands clenching into tight fists, eyes downcast as if willing the floor to give him answers to questions he was too afraid to ask aloud.

He looked up when he heard Raven approaching, and his features softened. But even Richard couldn’t bring himself to smile. “Starfire’s in there now. I can let her know you want some alone time with him…”

The alien princess had been inconsolable ever since the news of the accident had reached the Tower, and as a result, Richard himself felt stretched out pretty thin. As the Titans’ leader, so much of this was his responsibility, the burden falling directly onto his shoulders, but as Starfire’s boyfriend, it made the impact of it all that much heavier.

“You’re waiting for her?” Raven asked softly.

He nodded, then turned to stare at the door like he could see through it. “She’s…not sleeping well.”

“Is anyone?” It was meant to be light-hearted, maybe almost a jest, but with how haggard the entire team was, no one would be laughing. Especially when the very beating life of their dynamic was out of commission indefinitely.

“Victor…he’s doing everything he can. Money’s no object, both Steve and Bruce have made that abundantly clear. But…” Nightwing was trying to rationalize things, as he was in the habit of doing, but not even he could fix such a tragedy.

Raven stared at the ground, tears fresh and hot burning her eyes anew. _It wasn’t fair_. _It shouldn’t have been him._

Just then, the door hissed open, sliding to reveal Koriand’r’s tall, lean form swaying before them. The Tamaranean princess looked a mess. Rampant red curls were askew with frizz from being uncombed for days, and her eyes were puffy with tears, the tip of her nose red. She sniffled once and then grabbed Raven into a fierce embrace, sobbing into the empath’s shoulder as she clutched at her cloak.

Something like, “I’m sorry,” was audible in between the sobs, but Raven didn’t know what else to do other than to brush her hands through her hair in a half-hearted attempt at human consolation. How could she comfort someone else when she, too, was suffering?

Eventually, Starfire broke away, wiped at her tear-streaked face with the backs of her hands, and grabbed at Richard’s arm so that he could help take her away to their room. Nightwing gave Raven one last lingering look, as if to ask if she’d be okay. If she could handle going in there all alone. She wasn’t, not really. She was terrified, haunted by nightmares, of the flashes of _him_ she’d seen when they’d first dragged his desecrated body to the infirmary. But how could she ever tell him that when Richard, too, already had his hands so full? When Starfire needed him?

So, instead, Raven nodded reassuringly, and watched the young couple go down the corridor, Starfire fumbling on her feet from grief, her sniffling sobs still carrying.

Raven then turned to face the open door and took in a deep breath through her nose, using her fingers to comb through the mess of her long, dark hair. Not that it mattered; there was no one there to take any notice. No one _awake_. But he had loved her hair oh so much, it was practically instinctual that she wanted it to look nice for him, so that he could run his fingers lovingly through the strands, the feel of him oddly comforting to her whenever she’d be falling asleep.

The machines helping keep him alive whirred and beeped in the room, steady this time and not alarmingly fast like they had been when Victor was elbow deep in his blood. Raven’s breath hitched in her throat at the memory of it. Her anxiety had spiked so badly then, the others had to help carry her out of the room, all while she fought against their strength, in a desperate attempt to heal him, even knowing the futility behind such a careless notion.

That had only been last night, and she barely remembered what happened after, only that she’d blacked out shortly after.

_“His wounds are too fatal, Raven. If you try to heal him, you could die instead.”_

And maybe that ought to have been the fair exchange; her life for his. Garfield would be fine without her. He’d mourn for a while, his heart broken, but he’d move on eventually, live a full life, find love again.

But her, without him? She’d wither away, like a spring flower trying to thrive in autumn.

Even now, she was overcome with the intense need to _fix_ him, to bring him back to the land of the living, no matter the cost. He looked so lifeless in the hospital bed, green skin turning a sickly, pale yellow against the crisp, sterile white of his fresh sheets. No doubt Victor had changed the blood-soaked ones beforehand, for the sake of her sanity. Besides the colour of his skin, Garfield appeared almost peaceful, like he was simply taking a nap, with only the bandages, tubes and plastic jutting out from his mouth and covering his nose the most unnatural thing about him. The machines were pumping oxygen into his lungs. And he was hanging onto life by a _thread_. 

A gross, heart-wrenching sob bubbled up from her throat, and Raven brought her hand to her mouth to stifle the agonizing sound at the sight of him, so broken. Her knees buckled and she nearly collapsed onto the cool, tiled floor, using her free hand to weakly grip at the bed rail. Victor had done his best to patch him up, to clean him and make him presentable, but the stitches were still there on his head, bandaged heavily where some of his hair had been shaved off to accommodate the needle. A tube stuck out, draining the excess fluid from the injury — pale, thick, and sickly. Garfield’s chest heaved with every bit of air being forced into him, and his eyes remained shut to the world.

_“Breathe, damn it! Breathe!” _She could still hear Victor’s desperate screams to save his friend’s life, and it made the impending silence all the more wretched.

Raven could feel it, the ebbing darkness. Like the grim reaper, it encroached upon her, closer and closer, trying to draw her in, feeding on her misery. On her loneliness. Her father’s influence was always strongest when her emotions were the most volatile. She could hear his whispers in the back of her mind, even now, and part of her — a desperate, sad part — wanted her to just _give in_.

Not recalling exactly how — like her feet were possessed by some otherworldly power — Raven had winded up at his bedside, one hand clasped over his while the other smoothed back wisps of his dark green hair from his cool and clammy forehead. She didn’t even realize she’d been crying until small droplets of moisture landed onto his arm. She thought she’d been tapped out of tears with all the crying she’d done, but it appeared she had a little more to spare, and once she noticed them, it was like a faucet she couldn’t turn off. Raven slunk into the chair nearby and rested her forehead against his shoulder, crying softly against his skin.

“_Come back to me, Gar…please…_I can’t…I can’t _do this_ without you.” Her voice stuck with phlegm, nose on fire with tears, and she knew he didn’t hear her. That he _couldn’t_ hear her, wherever he was.

If only she could save him…Before Trigon’s influence took ahold of her completely. His whispers were everywhere the light couldn’t reach, and that light was dimming around the changeling.

Gar was her light, he was her beacon, and if he died, she’d have no one to draw her home, to pull her into safety.

She’d be all alone again…

Tangling her fingers with his, Raven squeezed his hand, willing the life back into him and drawing on her own healing abilities ever so slowly. Absorbing his pain was like being hit by a truck and feeling every single bone break. The explosion that had buried him — nearly _killed_ him, and put him into a coma — must have felt similarly. She was crushed by its weight, but still Raven pressed on, her unending grief the primary driving factor.

“Rae?”

It was Victor’s voice that called to her, pulled her out of it. His footsteps were fast and he’d pulled them apart immediately, strong arms holding her back. Raven let out a wail, but she couldn’t fight him. She was too weak, and Victor was already holding her, embracing her, hushing her as she clung to the cold, familiar metal of his repurposed body. “You can’t do this, Rae. He’d never be able to live with himself,” he told her, his voice a warm, breathy whisper in her ear. She could feel his own hot tears drip onto her face. “On top of that, he’d kill _me _for letting you.” Cyborg tried to laugh, but he choked on it, instead.

Victor cradled Raven on the floor, and he rocked her gently, all the while smoothing her hair back with his mechanical digits. His crying was softer than hers, but his grief was palpable to the empath. Garfield had been his best friend. A brother._ Family_. It wasn’t any easier on him.

“I know…I know it’s hard…But you have to live. You gotta.” He pulled back, tilted her chin upwards so that he could stare into her tear-streaked face, and count the crystals of moisture clinging in her lashes. Cyborg wiped them away, and then he smiled, lips quivering. “You have to live, for the_ both _of you.”

She didn’t understand his meaning, not fully, not until his hand moved protectively over her belly. Raven stilled, her sobs weakening, and the darkness moved back ever so little. Her eyes followed his hand, and she looked back up at him with a bleary gaze. “Are you saying that…?”

Cyborg, still somehow smiling through the tears for the first time in what felt like forever, nodded even before she could think to finish such a hope-filled sentence. “The test results came back this morning. I’m…I’m going to be an uncle, and you…you are going to be a _mother_.” Fresh tears swam in his human eye, but this time of joy, and he wiped at them frantically, chest heaving with emotion.

Happiness, genuine happiness, as he pulled Raven into a fierce hug. “I’m going to do _everything_ to make sure you two are happy and healthy. I promise.” It was unclear if he was speaking to her or if this was a promise he’d long since made to his best friend, now lying comatose behind them.

Either way, Raven couldn’t help the tiny bubble of hope from within her as she realized she was carrying Garfield’s child — a small piece of him that he’d left behind. A reason to continue living.

And just like that, the darkness quieted and the voices fell away. Light, small but warm, had chased it all off for the time being, and Raven realized that, maybe, she was actually rather famished…

* * *

** _ ~FIN_ **


	3. Delirium

**Whumptober Day 3: Delirium**

* * *

The injury — like all minor injuries — had started off harmless.

Enough so that Raven, the resident healer, probably didn’t have to worry about it. Gar didn’t even seem too bothered by the small, red nick in his skin himself, smiling and shrugging off her feeble concern with a wave of his hand.

“It’s fine, Rae,” he reassured her. “I’m positive it’ll just heal on its own.”

And it should have, realistically speaking. Gar healed quicker than any regular human, given his unstable genetics, and the wound was small comparatively. Barely more than a graze along his ribs, already scabbing over. Like a long, clean paper cut.

Raven ought to have known better. They all should have. Slade was not the type of man to hold back in a fight, and it had been careless of them to have underestimated the assassin. They would come to regret it a few nights later, when the empath grew warily apprehensive in regards to Gar’s sudden and unusual absence.

It was true that the changeling cooped himself up in his room sometimes to play videogames or catch up with his comics, but Raven had never known him to miss a meal. To Gar, food was as important as his hobbies, if not more. Cyborg, Starfire, and Robin had gone out to Gotham for some emergency that evening, and Raven had opted to stay back and keep tabs on the Tower and Jump City with the resident changeling.

Despite being likely the worst cook on the team, Raven had still made a meager attempt at cooking up some dinner for the both of them that night. She’d assumed Gar was too busy entranced by something frivolous to lend a hand, but she was still moderately proud of the mac and cheese she hadn’t burned this time around.

Not really knowing why she was in the mood to be nice, she’d even scooped it into a clean bowl and gotten him a glass of milk and some tea for herself. Balancing it all on a tray, she then called down the hallway for him. When he didn’t respond, she scoffed and rolled her eyes, figuring he had his headphones on. Carrying the hot food with her, Raven made her way to Beast Boy’s room, and knocked on his door a few times, loud enough to get his attention while still being careful with the tray.

A few moments passed, and nothing happened.

In fact, not a single sound could be heard coming from Gar’s bedroom, and Raven’s brows knit in puzzlement. “Beast Boy? Beast Boy, are you there?”

To her surprise, the door was unlocked, and slid open at the push of a button.

What Raven saw made her gasp aloud and immediately drop the tray of food at her feet, smashing the ceramic and glass while spilling everything onto the floor with a deafening clatter. Panicked, she immediately dashed inside, not caring for the mess she’d left behind.

Gar’s room was dark save for the bright light emanating from the hallway, but Raven could see that the place was _trashed_, and Beast Boy himself lay crumpled in a heap on the floor by his bed, his sheets twisted and tangled about his waist, tethering him to the mattress. He looked like he’d been trying to crawl somewhere, but couldn’t, and a helpless, weakened whimper died on his lips.

Raven was at his side in moments, cradling his head in her lap and trying to suss out what was wrong. “Gar?! Gar! Azar, what happened here? Were you attacked?”

But his windows showed no sign of forced entry, and Raven could feel heat burning up from beneath his skin against her fingers. He was excruciatingly hot to the touch — more so than usual — and he groaned sickly in her lap, unable to open his eyes.

Raven cupped his cheeks, feeling like she was handling hot coal as she searched him for any visible wounds. “Gar, talk to me if you can. What’s wrong?”

But Beast Boy was delirious with fever and his head lolled from side to side. He mumbled something under his breath, inaudible and incoherent, and Raven’s heart panged with worry. She could tell that his mouth had gone dry, that he was obviously dehydrated, and she also deduced that he likely hadn’t been able to leave his bed all day. Not even the TV was left on, but in his frantic state and attempt to get help, he’d likely tried to get to his feet using the aids of his room, only to knock his belongings around and break them instead.

Gar shivered in Raven’s arms despite his temperature, his whole body shaking with feverish sweats. Grunting with the effort it took, Raven carefully helped lift him off the ground to settle him back into bed. He moaned sharply in pain, grimacing and writhing weakly in sweat-soaked sheets when she’d handled him, and that was when Raven recalled the battle wound from their fight with Slade.

As she suspected, Gar flinched away when her fingers brushed along the side of his ribcage where the cut had been. Heat radiated from it and when she managed to peel back his uniform, the pus and skin ripped with it, causing Gar to cry out in anguish, restless in his bed.

“_Shit_,” cursed Raven. She turned on his bedside table lamp to help her assess the damage, and immediately saw that the wound had festered.

No longer a simple scab, the skin around it was dehisced and had become an angry, inflamed red. Yellow puss oozed from the inside, wet scar tissue going almost green with infection. Raven grimaced and noted Gar’s breathing growing more shallow.

“No…no…don’t…don’t make me go…,” he whined, tossing his head from side to side against his pillow. “I can’t…can’t leave them…”

“I’ll be right back, Gar. I promise,” Raven assured him, knowing full well that, wherever he was, she likely couldn’t reach the shapeshifter anyways.

After giving his arm a reassuring squeeze, she then opened a portal to the kitchen and quickly grabbed a tea towel, soaked it under the tap and wrapped some ice in it before filling up a glass with cold water. The portal didn’t have the time to disappear by the time she was done and back in Gar’s room. His status had not changed.

Hushing his deranged cries, Raven then patted the towel against his feverish forehead and sat him up so that she could help get a glass of water to his lips. “Gar, hang in there, please. I can heal it, I swear to you, but you have to stay awake. You have to stay _with me_.”

“Mo-mom…mom, don’t go, don't…” Gar’s expression changed and tears, hot and fresh, seared down the sides of his cheeks. “Don’t go…_please_…” He was sobbing, fighting Raven albeit rather weakly, as if she were keeping him away from something.

Using her empathy, she tried to calm him, worried that he’d hurt himself further if he worked himself up. “Shh, shh, it’s okay, Gar. It’s okay. Rest…,” she cooed, helping to ease him down onto the bed as he slipped back into his delirious dreams. “I…I won’t leave her…n-not this time…,” he breathed, but he was already laying down, losing consciousness.

Once he was settled again, Raven had him drink some more water, nestled the damp towel against his forehead, and then saw to his wound. She then removed her cloak and licked her lips apprehensively as she prepared to work.

Slade’s blade had been poisoned. Of that there was no doubt. It was why Gar couldn’t heal it on his own, even with a perfectly healthy immune system. Whatever Deathstroke had laced the weapon with would be preventing any sort of healing factor, and Raven wasn’t entirely sure she could fix him on her own. So, she sent out an SOS via her Titans communicator, and tried to buy them both some more time.

Once that was done, she took a deep breath, hovered her hands over the wound, and slowly started to drain out the infection, her own side beginning to burn with nauseating pain. Nonetheless, she kept going, pulling it out in thin wisps of warm light emanating from her fingertips and palms. The shock of it made her inhale abruptly, sharp and stabbing, shooting through her whole body until she saw stars, her own cells struggling to heal the damage. Raven remained focused, gritting her teeth, slowly ridding the wound of all the yellow pus and red edges.

Once she was satisfied with her work, and Gar’s breathing returned to something a bit more normal, Raven stopped to catch her breath. Subconsciously, she clutched at her side where the cut would have been, her body trembling from the effort. And there was still the matter of the poison. Gar would never heal if she didn’t remove the toxin, and all her efforts would be in vain.

“Curse you, Slade,” she muttered vexingly under her breath. “You _bastard_.”

“R…Rave…en?” Gar blinked open his eyes, but they were barely more than a slit through sticky tears and grime. His fingers twitched at his side, reaching for her through his mental haze. “Rest,” she instructed him, adjusting the towel over his brow and using the corners to wipe at his eyes.

He managed to smile, small and barely visible, but he was trying. “A…angel…”

“Hush.” Raven was trying to focus, but his words were not lost on her, nor their irony. How could he ever see her as an angel when he knew her heritage? “Don’t waste your energy. You’re going to need it.”

Inhaling deeply, and then exhaling through her mouth, Raven then began to do the same motion over the wound, only this time drawing out the poison contaminating Beast Boy’s blood. She would not be able to seal it until she’d gotten every single drop out of him, or history would just repeat itself.

At first, she felt nothing, but the more she drew out, the more weary her muscles grew, until she could barely lift her arms. The poison was strong, but her body was able to handle it better than Gar’s. Still…it might not be enough.

By the time she was positive she’d removed every trace, Raven nearly collapsed onto Gar’s bed herself. Her vision blurred, dark edges closing in. She had to seal the wound, it was all that was left to do. Determined, she sat up, hunched from her laboured breathing and barely conscious. A cold sweat had started building on her skin, and exhaustion tugged at her eyelids. Weakly, she drew on her healing magic to help knit Gar’s skin back together, but what once would have been a simple process, had become excruciatingly tedious, her own body preoccupied with attempting to rid her of the poison she’d consumed.

She found herself slipping more and more, and it became harder to stay awake. Raven never truly found out if she’d finished her task; her vision went dark before she could…

In her dreams, she found a little boy standing along the shore of a waterfall, watching helplessly by a tree as a boat in the distance tumbled over the edge…

* * *

“I think she’s coming to.” An echoing voice, familiar, called Raven out of her dreams.

“Gar, for the last time, I told you to stay outside!”

“But she’s waking up, I know it!”

Heavy footsteps thumped nearby, and Raven squinted against the harsh light overhead burning through her eyelids. As she blinked them open to reality again, and things came to focus, she found herself face to face with the changeling’s toothy grin — fang and all. He appeared much different than she remembered, the healthy, pigmented green having returned to his skin, and life shining in his emerald eyes. Raven tried to sit up, her head spinning. She clutched at her temple and squeezed her eyes shut from the force of the oncoming headache. “What…what happened?”

“Easy there.” Victor’s strong robotic arm helped steady her, even though she was seated on a stretcher, machines hooked up to her arms and chest. “Still recovering, angel.”

She furrowed her brows, while Gar sputtered and glared at Vic, who chuckled. “Angel?” she asked.

Gar sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He was shirtless and in his grey pajama sweatpants, a fresh white bandage taped to the side of his chest. “I, uh…well, you saved my life, Raven. And, uhm…I may have let it slip, in my _delirious_ state…that, er…”

“He said he was saved by a beautiful, _raven_-haired angel,” Victor finished for him, amusement tickling his features and tone whilst he monitored the status of the IV pump.

“That’s…I didn’t…I was…DELIRIOUS! Remember?” Gar sputtered, nearly coming to his feet from the rolling chair he was seated in. “Kind of nearly died? You can’t hold that against a guy when he was dying, dude!”

“Alright, alright, don’t go popping those stitches, green bean. I mean it, I’ll let Kory fix them for you next time.”

Gar paled and sat back down before turning his attention to Raven again, who was still gathering her bearings. “How are you feeling, Rae?” he asked her tenderly.

Raven grimaced. “Like I’m going to throw up everywhere.”

“The antidote’s side effect,” Vic explained, pulling out a stethoscope to listen to her heart. “It’s a good thing you called us when you did, otherwise you’d _both_ be goners.”

Gar stared down at his feet, bashful and guilty. “It’s…it’s my fault. You were almost _killed_ trying to help me, Rae… If I’d just let you heal the wound when you’d offered, all of this could have been avoided…”

Raven’s response came easily, enough, practically mechanical. “I didn’t do anything you wouldn’t have done for any of us.”

Victor nodded in agreement. “She’s right. Raven bought you enough time, and most of all, she trusted you to save _her_. She put her life in _your_ hands. Which is more than I can say I’d do myself.” Victor chuckled. 

Lifting his gaze, Gar studied the empath for a moment. “I…Thank you, Raven.”

Raven smiled even through the discomfort. “Do me a favor though, for next time?”

“Anything.”

“Let me heal your wounds, even the minor ones.”

Gar grinned and nodded. “Will do. That’s a promise.”

* * *

** _ ~FIN_ **


	4. Human Shield

**Whumptober Day 4: Human Shield**

* * *

_He'd die for you, if you asked him to, you know. Put his life on a silver platter if he had to._

It wouldn't ever come to that. But Gar really wouldn't hesitate, putting himself on the line. "One of these days, it's going to backfire and I'm never going to forgive you."

She was furious with him, knowing he'd nose-dived directly into danger to protect her, with no regard for consequence. "I don't need you playing knight in shining armor for me, Beast Boy."

Raven was doing it again; pushing him away so that maybe he'd live a longer, more fruitful life. She loved him, of course. So much that she couldn't bring herself to be selfish. Even if it hurt her, being away from him. Not breathing the same air. Not kissing his lips. Not touching his skin or hair. Getting lost in his atmosphere. But he deserved to be happy, and she didn't for the life of her think it was possible with _her_.

"You're reckless and you're going to get yourself _killed_. What good would you be to anyone if you're dead?"

But Gar had just smiled at her the whole time she'd chastised him — the same smile he'd always given her. Like she was the most lovely woman he'd ever laid eyes upon. "Gar, are you even _listening_ to me?"

He nodded and then shrugged, as if to be snapping out of his stupor. "It's just, I have no idea what you're talking about. I didn't do anything out of the ordinary."

Raven groaned and rubbed her fingers along her temple. "Nevermind."

It had been a close call, and they'd both certainly suffered some minor injuries, but Gar had shielded Raven from most of the damage when the gunmen opened fire, using his massive gorilla form to hide her from the onslaught of bullets. A few had managed to scrape him before Raven could summon a shield with her soul-self to protect them both, but nothing major had been hit and all he'd needed were a few stitches.

Still.

It bothered her, how dedicated he was. How much love and hope flowed off of him in earnest whenever he was near her. He was overwhelming, and her willpower was quivering.

She got up to leave him there — for her own sanity just as much as his — but when she allowed a moment of weakness and lingered by the doorway, he called out to her, "I'd do it again, you know."

Raven sighed, closing her eyes and resting her forehead against the doorframe. "_Why_?" she whispered.

But he didn't hear her. Even so, it was as if he'd answered her anyways. "It's worth it. _You're_ worth it."

She wanted to tell him, wanted to say how on Earth he expected her to handle him dying to protect her. How was she supposed to live and be okay with that? Without him? But Raven couldn't find the words — they stalled in her throat, dying on the tip of her tongue.

Part of her wanted to stay.

Linger just a moment longer, and then a moment more. On and on until he'd get up, touch the side of her face tenderly before crushing his mouth to hers as she'd melt into his arms.

But Raven had left, like a coward, disappearing beyond the corridor.

She never gave him the moment he needed, and later, she would come to regret it.

"No. _Please_." The helpless, moaning plea had come out of her mouth, she realized. "Let him go, _please_, _please_."

The collar around Gar's neck prevented him from shifting, and Slade Wilson had the changeling in a headlock, the barrel of a gun pressed into his temple. A loaded promise.

A promise of _death_.

Gar fought to get away, but the collar sapped at his strength, and Slade had overpowered him. Slowly, the mercenary sidled past the heroes, eyeing them carefully beneath his ominous mask. "Take one step closer and his brains become alphabet soup," he warned loudly.

The Titans all itched to do something, anything, and many — including Robin — appeared angered by Slade making his getaway by using one of their own.

Silent tears streaked Raven's face as she watched on in horror, feeling as if her chest was being crushed by a perilous weight she couldn't hope to lift. "Please," she whimpered, only he was too far to hear her now. "Take me _instead_…"

But he was already gone. Disappearing from view. Raven collapsed to the cold floor, gravity like iron weighing her down to her knees.

She should have lingered…

* * *

_ **~FIN** _


	5. Gunpoint

**Whumptober Day 5: Gunpoint**

* * *

Sometimes, Gar wished he had the ability of super speed. He envied the Flashes for it, but not for the reasons one might think. Less for heroic purposes and more for when he’d want to go get a pizza from the gourmet place halfway across the city, or maybe pasta from Italy, and still make it back home in time to catch the latest episode of his favourite sci-fi TV show.

Of course, being a superhero and having super speed also came in handy, but Gar figured that, for the majority of his life, he pretty much had the hero thing on lockdown as it was. Not everyone could be as blessed as Superman in this industry. Or as rich and smart as Bruce Wayne.

Sometimes, heroes had to settle, and work with what they _did_ have. And most of the time, that would be all that mattered.

But unfortunately, there would always come a day where even _that_ wouldn’t be enough, and a hero had to question their own resolve…

Gar hadn’t thought he’d live to see that day, not with the Titans at his back, but one moment, he’d been in a fight with the Brotherhood of Evil at the Titans Training Tower, and the next, he’d witnessed Monsieur Mallah take one of the smaller children hostage, his gun muzzle pointed right at their quivering, crying form.

“He’s got a kid!” Nightwing shouted through the comms, his voice crackling over the static, but the rubble of the collapsing building made it near impossible to navigate the wreckage, let alone see anything beyond the rising clouds of dust.

A pillar had fallen atop Gar’s back, and he’d barely managed to lift it off of him, even in the form of a bear. His suit was tattered in many places, and blood, warm and sticky, oozed down the side of his temple and nose. Probably other places, too, but he didn’t have the time to check.

The scene played out before him like a slow motion movie, and Gar’s heartbeat thrummed in his ears, like a drum. His eyes widened when he recognized the child — _his_ child — and panic paired with adrenaline burned anew in his veins.

“_Asha_!” he screamed, lungs burning as he watched the little girl tremble before the burly, armed gorilla, tears pooling in her eyes and streaking her little, chubby cheeks.

_Little mouse_.

A nickname he’d long since given her when she’d been born prematurely, small enough to fit in the cup of both his hands. But she’d never gotten much bigger as a toddler either, always the shortest in her group of peers, and so the nickname had stuck, affectionately. On her fifth birthday, Gar had even bought her a small necklace — white gold — with a matching charm in the shape of a mouse dangling from the chain. Its eyes were tiny red crystals, his attempt at recognizing her mother’s chakra when he’d customized it. Gar could see the glint of them even from here.

The little girl’s dark hair was dirty and dishevelled, long strands sticking to her soot covered face, and even the clothes Raven had picked out for her this morning were ripped and matted with dust. One of the straps of her dress sat torn over the curve of her small shoulder, and the black and white striped shirt beneath it was covered in dirt and some questionable patches of rusted crimson.

Instinct took over and Gar lurched to his feet with a new burst of adrenaline. It didn’t matter that he’d likely broken his arm, maybe shattered a rib or two. Pain was inconsequential to the Beast’s protective nature. Impulse overriding everything else, Gar was midshift in the air as he’d jumped towards Mallah with a mighty, angry roar. His lips curled back to bare a set of sharp canine teeth, spittle dribbling down his chin, and a deadly snarl forming on a mouth that wasn’t entirely human anymore.

More than anything, he wished that Asha would _shift_, that she’d have been blessed with his gift, or cursed by her grandfather’s touch, if only so she’d know to get away before Mallah pulled that trigger. But Asha’s powers were only beginning to manifest, and no one understood them just yet, least of all her. So, she stood there, scared, helpless, sobbing, unable to cry out for help. She clutched her backpack to her chest and squeezed her eyes shut, shoulders shaking with the knowledge that her life would soon end, and not entirely grasping the weight of that.

She’d be going into the unknown alone, without her mother or her father, and it was the scariest concept for any child. That she’d be in indescribable pain until she breathed her last breath, tiny frail lungs filling with her own blood, wanting her parents to save her somehow.

Gar was in a frenzy, frothing at the mouth, trying to dodge beams and wreckage in an effort to get to her faster.

Faster and faster, but never fast _enough_.

His muscles burned and ached, his body convulsing as he changed into multiple forms. Limbs turning into various animals, anything that would give him an edge, but Mallah knew he was coming.

He would never get to her in time, and his heart was breaking, a strangled scream of agony mangling his voice with the voice of the animals within him.

Mallah squeezed the trigger, and Gar watched in horror mid-stride as her tiny chest exploded from the impact of the bullet, crimson blooming like a flower against the denim of her dress. Asha’s green eyes went as dead as a doll’s, and Gar swiped at Mallah with a claw twice the size of his head.

He pinned the gorilla down and, in a fit of rage and unyielding grief, he tore into him until there was nothing left. Tears burned his eyes, scorching, his throat afire.

Gar’s eyes glazed over; he could see her small body laying perfectly still from the corner of his eye. His breathing was ragged even as the gorilla lay dead at his feet, but he’d gone numb, more animal than man. Nudging her shoe with a furry paw, he moaned and whined helplessly when Asha didn’t move.

“It is done.”

A woman in the shadows maintained her distance from the scene, appearing like a green wisp, watching without a lick of emotion on her comely features. “Gar Logan is a broken man,” she stated coldly.

“Excellent work, Phobia,” trilled an electronic voice. The Brain rolled himself out of the darkness to observe the changeling more closely, but Gar was immune to their presence, so consumed by the nightmare Phobia had played out.

Despite the vividness of the mirage, no physical body lay before him. Instead, the changeling cradled a heap of stone and rubble to his chest that he thought was his daughter’s broken body. He remained in the form of a beastly figure so badly mutated, it was impossible to tell if the creature had ever existed in lore at all.

“The Changeling will not be bothering us for quite some time now, and when he does eventually realize that his daughter had never been here on this day, it’ll be too late. Let us get back to work…” The Brain spun around and began making his way out of the room without a second thought to the former Teen Titan they had forever traumatized…

* * *

** _~FIN_ **


End file.
